The same scene
the same rain
the same night.
Hills watch
the wild panorama of humans
how bullet crushes
and knife spills blood
how
‘death’ is the only news.
So cool and scented air
from the greenery hums:
where a child was sold
where a pulsar fades
then it dries the tear in “their eyes”.
Innocence stares:
how isms make wars
plans create contours
life halts
if a rain
could wash our sorrows.
Kehadurapal,18/11/2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem